


Perfect Timing

by ChloeWeird



Series: Timing is Everything [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Canon Compliant, Dogs, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Full Shift Werewolves, Future Fic, M/M, or child whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:22:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5568985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeWeird/pseuds/ChloeWeird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing had tried to kill them for three whole years. His dad stopped updating the "Supernatural Accident Free for X days" counter. The pack was stable. The timing was perfect and they could totally do this. Stiles just had to convince Derek.</p><p>Somehow, taking their relationship to the next level doesn't go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles’ aim was getting better. It only took him three tries to chuck one of the many throw pillows ( _so many_ , really an obscene amount) off their couch to hit Derek square in the face. Derek looked up from his laptop with a glare that was worth a thousand words, most of which Stiles interpreted to mean _I love you, you’re perfect,_ and _don’t ever change_ , because he knew how Derek felt underneath those murderbrows. 

“What.” Derek growled. 

“Check your email.” 

Derek sighed, but Stiles could hear him clicking away from Myspace, or whatever it was Derek did on his computer. (It was probably work. Derek usually reserved Wednesday afternoons for planning projects for clients. Thursdays were for responding to emails. Fridays were for responding to nasty emails.) 

“Stiles, what did we say about sending me things on the computer when we’re in the same room?” 

“Only do it when the contents of the email are extremely important and nearly impossible to convey through conversation alone?”

“No. We said knock it off.” 

“You said that,” Stiles muttered, then went back to looking at the page he’d sent Derek the link to. It was an article. Stiles scrolled through the bullet points he’d already read twice and tapped the corner of his laptop in anticipation. Stiles knew the moment Derek read the headline, because his eyebrows went from ‘murder’ to ‘really?’ very quickly. 

“Stiles.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Stiles said, balancing his laptop on the cushions next to him and moving to Derek’s side of the massive couch. “You’re thinking that this is a terrible idea.” Derek’s arch look was all the answer Stiles needed. “But look at the criteria.”

Stiles all but climbed into Derek’s lap and pointed at the first bullet, mostly ignoring the hand Derek wrapped around his hip. “Financial stability. We have totally achieved that.” 

Derek couldn’t refute that one. Stiles had just been given a huge grant from the county for his research into the history of Beacon Hills, and it would likely be renewed for the next 3 years until the bicentennial month was over. That was in addition to his part time hours at the library. Derek had clients buying his art/uncomfortable furniture from all over the country. 

Stiles waited for Derek to finish reading that section, then commandeered the arrow keys to scroll down to the next one. “Suitable living situation. We’ve got that on lock.” Stiles gestured to their open plan living room, encompassing the copious, comfy furniture and the huge dining table on the other side for pack dinners. He couldn’t help but give a pleased sigh. “I love our house.” 

“Me too.” Derek pulled him in for a Responsible Mortgage-free Homeowners kiss, which Stiles enjoyed, but they were in the middle of something, so he put a stop to it before the conversation got completely derailed.

“Next, a compatible schedule. Easy-peasy. We both have jobs where we essentially make our own hours. Also, the pack are free sitters. All the time.”

“Have you asked the pack about that?” 

“Well, no. But the amount of time I’ve spent babysitting their kids means it’s an automatic thing.” Stiles leaned forward, set the laptop on the coffee table and turned to face Derek like he meant business. “Nothing has tried to kill us for three whole years. Dad’s stopped updating the ‘Supernatural Accident Free for X days’ counter. The pack is stable. In conclusion, the timing is perfect and we should totally do this.”

Derek grabbed the computer again and pointed to the last point on the list of “How to Know if You’re Ready for a Dog.” _Everyone in your household is fully committed._ Stiles winced. 

“Well, I mean, 50 percent of this family is totally committed. That’s gotta count for something right? Even if you were only committed half way, that would be 75 percent, which is a majority.” Derek sighed, and went to the kitchen, probably to start dinner as much to escape the conversation. “Okay, maybe 70 percent. 60 percent?”

The initial introduction of the idea hadn’t gone as well as Stiles was hoping, that was for sure. Derek hadn’t outright said no, but he definitely hadn’t said yes. Stiles was pretty certain he could wear Derek down. 

**

“Stiles, have you seen my phone? Oh.” 

Stiles tossed the phone through the air, certain that Derek would have no problem catching it. “I downloaded an app on it. Then I answered a bunch of questions while pretending to be you. I’m pretty sure I had it fooled. It totally thought I was a muscley, bearded werewolf who steals the covers at night, then _tosses them to the ground._ ” 

“Why were you impersonating me?”

“It’s a dog compatibility test. It said that the perfect dog for you would be a foxhound. Like the Disney movie, Derek, it’s adorable! Or at least some kind of working dog. Chihuahuas were not high on the list.” 

Derek shoved his phone into his pocket and went back to his workshop to hammer something, or whatever it was he did in there. Stiles was left alone to deal with the aftermath of seeing his boyfriend in his tool belt, worn blue jeans and nothing else. 

Delicious aftermath. 

**

“Look, that’s a boxer! They’re awesome. Lots of energy, but so friendly. We could get one of those.”

They were on their way to Scott’s daughter’s birthday picnic, and it was such nice day that they’d decided to walk. They were almost there, and on the way, Stiles had seen about a million dogs. He’d taken the opportunity to do a sell-job on all of them. Well, most of them.

“Hey, that’s an English Bulldog! Look at its face, oh my god. It’s grumpy just like you. I would say we should definitely get one, but I’ve heard that they have a lot of health problems. One article I read said that if you have a bulldog, you’d better get ready to buy stock in grain-free, chicken-free dog food. Did you know that French Bulldogs are essentially incapable of breeding naturally? They have to be artificially inseminated, because their legs are too stubby to mount, or something. I’m not really sure on the specifics.”

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“I know you don’t like it when I kiss you to make you stop talking. So, I want to be perfectly clear. That’s not why I’m kissing you.” 

And boy, did Derek kiss him. Stiles found himself pulled in by his hips(a move Derek _knew_ got Stiles’ heart pumping) and being kissed so long and passionately that a couple of parents pushing their kids on the swings nearby whistled at them. When Derek ended the kiss and guided a dazed Stiles back on their path, he wore a smug grin that just made Stiles want to kiss him again. 

“So, what was the reason?” Stiles asked.

“Hmm?”

“For kissing me. If it wasn’t to shut me up.”

“Your cheeks turn pink when you’re excited about something. You know how much I like that.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.” 

They made the rest of the walk in silence, and when they got there, they received a few raised eyebrows at their flushed cheeks and generally worked-up aura, which Stiles ignored. It wasn’t his fault he’d been surprised with a make-out session. It wasn’t until later that he realized he’d been so distracted for the last 5 minutes of their walk that he’d stopped pointing out dogs. Tricky, multitasking asshole. 

**

Stiles ate breakfast almost every day now, to prove to his dad and his boyfriend that _yes_ , he would use an East-facing breakfast nook, and they absolutely needed one in their kitchen instead of a bar with uncomfortable stools. Most mornings, like this one, Derek ate with him.

“Look at him,” Stiles said, around a mouthful of Captain Crunch(Just because he was an adult who ate in a breakfast nook didn’t mean he had to eat “adult” cereal.) “How can you not be moved by those limpid brown eyes?”

He nudged his phone across the table and Derek, bless him, dutifully looked at the profile Stiles had chosen from the Ready to Adopt! page. He flicked his thumb and perused the bio the shelter had written for the dog, then shook his head, which was more response than Stiles usually got. “He looks like Scott.”

Stiles snatched his phone back. “No, he does--Oh my god. You’re totally right.” 

The tan brown fur, the earnest eyes, the general aura of sunshinyness. The dog’s jaw might even have been a little wonky. Stiles deleted the dog’s profile from his favourites. That would be just too weird.

Stiles let his spoon fall into his empty bowl. “Man, now I can’t stop imagining what the rest of the pack would look like as dogs.” 

“Do you want a distraction?”

Stiles let a wicked smile curl on his lips, and leaned forward on his elbows. “Sure. I’ve got nothing better to do for the next 15 minutes.” 

Derek scoffed. “15 minutes? Please.” 

Stiles leapt from his seat and raced up the stairs toward the bedroom, cackling the whole way. Their coffee was cold and thick by the time they got back downstairs, since it had been decidedly longer than 15 minutes. Neither of them minded. 

**

Stiles checked his email one more time before plugging it in to charge, and a message from the Beacon Hills Animal Shelter was the only new one. 

_Good news!_ It read. _A dog you were following on our PawsBook Social Network has been adopted! This means that you will no longer be notified when we post updates on..._

Stiles scrolled down to see Jacob’s profile picture. (“Jacob, Derek, it’s a sign from the gods.”) Below it was a photo of the new family he was going to go home with. Jacob’s big, slobbery mouth was open in a wide doggy smile and the two kids had their arms around him and smiles just as big. They looked really happy. 

Stiles felt bad about it, but his heart plummeted in disappointment. He was a planner, always had been, and he’d already plotted out their entire life together. His, Jacob’s and Derek’s. Stiles had thought that he had a week or two to convince Derek, but apparently he hadn’t acted fast enough. 

“What’s wrong? You smell sad all of a sudden.” 

Stiles stared at the email for a couple more seconds, then deleted it. No need to torture himself. “Jacob got adopted.”

“Oh. That’s the dog you were…?”

“Yeah, the lab.”

“Oh.” 

Stiles plugged his phone into the charger and rolled over so that he could tuck himself up under Derek’s arm and rest his head on his broad shoulder. Derek switched his grip so that he could hold his book one-handed and used the other arm to wrap around Stiles. 

“Derek?”

“Hmm?

Stiles traced aimless patterns with his finger on the space between Derek’s pecs and just above his rib cage. It was one of Stiles’ favourite spots. “I know I’ve been pushing this dog thing, even though you’re not really into it. But, for real, I want this a lot. If you’re completely against it, I’ll back off, I swear. But could you please just give it some thought? No joking around this time.”

Derek rested his book on his chest and looked down at Stiles. When they were first dating, Stiles probably would have said that Derek looked good from every angle. Now, after 7 years of being together, Stiles was realistic enough to acknowledge that this double-chin, no neck, cross-eyed angle wasn’t flattering (but in love enough to still want to wake Derek up in the morning with a blow job). 

“Alright,” Derek rumbled, and Stiles’ cheek buzzed with the vibration.

“Alright. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

“And I’ll still love you if you decide that we can’t get a dog.”

“That’s good.”

Stiles snuggled closer and pulled the blanket up to his chin. “But I might love you just a tiny bit less.” 

“Really, Stiles?”

“I said just a tiny bit!”

**

They’re lazing around at home the next week when Stiles sticks his laptop in Derek’s face again. “I’m not going to start playing _In the Arms of an Angel,_ I swear. I just want you to look at a couple of these ones.”

Derek moved the screen far enough away that he could see and took control of the trackpad, which was probably a good idea. Stiles tended to get a little frantic with his clicking.

“Oooh, look, Derek, this one’s in Beacon City. And they think he’s a wolf hybrid! Aw, he’s just a puppy! ‘My name’s Bear. I might look wild, but don’t be scared...my handlers say I’m way too tame to be a wolf. I’m shy and I need someone to pull me out of my shell.’ His eyes, Derek, how can you resist those?”

Derek sat up and pulled the screen closer. His face fell into the stern, blank mask Stiles knew he used when he was thinking something he didn’t want other people to read. 

“What’s up?” Stiles asked, cautiously. 

“Let’s go get him.” 

Stiles felt like his brain had just blue screened. “What?”

“Come on. Get your jacket.”

Derek put the laptop on the table and headed for the door. Stiles could do nothing but gape. “Seriously?”

“Yes. Get moving, it’s 45 minutes to Beacon City, I don’t want anyone else to get him.” 

Derek was in the car with the engine on by the time Stiles used the porch step to tie his shoes. A short beep on the horn made him jump, and he whipped around and aimed a death glare at Derek. His shoe was mostly on, so he stomped over to the car and yanked open the door with dramatic flair. 

Stiles kept up his mildly annoyed silence until they were on the freeway, when it finally sank in. “Oh my god. We’re getting a dog. We are _finally_ getting a dog!”

Derek ignored Stiles’ crowing and accelerated harder. The drive to Beacon City was usually 45 mins, but they made it in 30. 

**

A lady named Pam showed them to Bear’s kennel, chatting the whole way. “I’m so glad you’re seriously interested. We’ve had lots of people come in because they thought he was a husky mix, but one look at those paws, and they’re out the door. He’s way more domesticated than an actual wolf would be, but it’s undeniable.” 

“I think we can handle him,” Stiles said, with a joking smile in Derek’s direction, but Derek wasn’t looking. His shoulders were drawn up with tension, and his frown was thunderous. 

“You might have to do some experimenting with food,” Pam said as they passed cage after cage of barking dogs. “Bear’s not underweight yet, but he usually takes a lot of coaxing to eat his kibble.” She stopped near the end of the row, unlatched the metal door and held it open for them. “It’s sad. Some dogs adjust to shelter life really quickly, but Bear just seems to get more and more withdrawn.” 

Bear was curled in a dejected ball on his bed, facing the wall. He wasn’t big yet, about the size of a fully grown beagle. Stiles got down on his knees immediately, and was surprised to see Derek do so as well. They approached him slowly, and the dog turned his head to look at them, but didn’t get up. 

Stiles never understood people who didn’t think dogs could show just as much emotion as a human. He’d never had a dog growing up, since his dad worked too irregularly to make it feasible, but he’d taken advantage of every friendly neighbourhood pet or leashed dog waiting outside of the convenience store for their owner. He’d look in their eyes and see happiness, or indifference, or caution. A full spectrum of feeling. 

Bear’s eyes were the saddest he’d ever seen. Despair seemed to roll off of him in waves, and the moist pools of his brown eyes looked like they could spill over any moment. 

Stiles crept forward and laid a hand on his side, letting the dog get used to him. “Hey, buddy,” he choked, his voice tight from sorrow. Bear still didn’t react, just breathed and avoided their eyes. 

Derek laid his hand over top of Stiles’, then threaded his fingers through Bear’s thick ruff. He leaned down closer to Bear’s ear, and let out a soft rumble, too soft for Pam to hear, but loud enough that Bear’s head whipped around and his ears perked just a tiny bit. Derek rumbled again, and the dog rolled over and sat up, slowly, as if it had been a long time since he’d moved. 

Derek and Stiles walked backwards on their knees to give him room, and Bear followed them, stepping lightly and cautiously until he stood in front of them. Derek’s eyes flashed blue in Stiles’ peripheral vision, and Bear listed to the side, leaning his little body into Derek as hard as he could. 

Stiles could hear Pam’s loud whisper as she called other staff over to see, but he was too busy staring in shock to pay her much mind. Derek stroked Bear’s ears and neck with a slow hand, his eyes closed and his nose buried in the dog’s furry shoulder. 

“Well,” Stiles said, then coughed to clear the lump in his throat. “I think we’re about ready to sign some papers, don’t you think, Pam?”

A sniffle and a nod was all he received in response. 

**

They had to leave Bear with the volunteers while they filled out the adoption forms, and Stiles thought Derek was going to vibrate out of his skin with tension. The clipboard they were handed provided a bit of a distraction. 

Derek perused the different sections and checklists on the forms, then swallowed hard when he got to the last one: spay or neuter procedures.

“Has he been,” Derek gritted out, “altered?”

The lady helping them shook her head. “No, he’s too young. You’ll have to sign a waiver that you promise to do it, and give us the phone number of your vet so that we can call and check that you did.”

Derek’s relief was so palpable that she pursed her lips, then spent the next 10 minutes lecturing them about the importance of spaying/neutering, and the terrible repercussions of backyard breeding. She was so vivid in her descriptions that Stiles was about ready to cry by the time she was finished, and that seemed to satisfy her. Derek didn’t pay her much attention. He was focused on the clipboard and filling out the forms as quickly as he could. 

Within a few more minutes, they were finished, and Stiles waved goodbye to the helpful staff while Derek led Bear on a new leash and collar. 

When they got to the car, Stiles opened the door to the back seat for Bear, then rounded the front of the car to wait for Derek to get him settled. His seatbelt had just clicked when he got hit in the shoulder by a key ring. 

“You drive,” Derek said. He was already buckled into the back seat with Bear, and was unbuckling the collar from around the puppy’s neck. 

Stiles took the key ring, but didn’t get out of the car. He just stared at the keys in his hand, in complete shock, then said, gently, “Derek. It’s not that I’m not glad that you’re on board with this. I am. Totally. But, seriously, what is going on with you?”

He waited for Derek to respond, but Derek was too intent on running his hand over every part of Bear. Was he checking for something? An injury? Bear had been deemed perfectly healthy at the shelter.

“Are you doing this to teach me some sort of lesson? Or make a point about how I’m not ready for this level of investment? Because--”

“Stiles, please.” Stiles adjusted the rearview mirror so that he could see Derek’s eyes. “You trust me, right?”

“Of course. Always.”

“Then, please, could you just go with this? I know it’s weird, but I can’t--I have to--” He broke off and stroked Bear’s voluminous ruff when the dog whined high in his throat. “Just trust me, okay? It will make sense later, I promise.” 

Stiles sank back in his seat, let his head smack into the headrest and closed his eyes. He took a couple of deep, calming breaths, then unbuckled his seatbelt and slid across the console to the driver’s seat. The engine purred like a kitten when he turned it over, and he pulled out of the parking lot and headed for home. 

He made a decision as he drove to “go with this” as Derek had suggested. He knew Derek, and they’d reached a point where they could rely on each other to keep themselves safe. He could trust Derek with this. But he couldn’t enjoy the ride. Not with Derek’s face in his rearview mirror, creased with worry over the dog who was curled up tight by his side. 

**

Derek didn’t bother to put the collar and leash back on, just picked Bear up and toted him to the house. Stiles followed numbly, then toed off his shoes while he watched Derek pull out the sofa bed one-handed. The crazy pile of throw pillows was arranged in a sort of nest shape, providing a wall between Derek and Bear, and the living room at large. 

“There’s some leftover chicken breast in the fridge. Could you grab it?” Derek’s voice was soft, like Bear was a baby who’d just been put down for a nap. 

Stiles didn’t hesitate to do as he asked, but as he handed Derek the tupperware, he said, “Okay, I know I was really pushing the financially stable angle, but is this going to be a long term thing? I was just planning on going with some wet food.”

“It won’t be forever. At least, I don’t think it will be.”

It didn’t end up mattering, because the dog took the piece of chicken from Derek’s fingers, then spit it out after a hot second. Derek sighed, but didn’t try the chicken again. 

“Stiles, would you please make some easy mac?”

“Wh...what Easy Mac? We don’t keep that stuff in this house, we’re trying to be healthier.”

“Stiles, don’t even. I’ve seen it. You’re not as stealthy as you think you are. Please, would you put some in the microwave?”

When Stiles got back with the plastic dish, Derek was sitting up with his legs crossed, and Bear was resting his face, with its beautiful brown and tan markings, on his ginormous paws. Small shivers ran down Bear’s body in waves, but his ears perked a bit when the smell of cheese-flavoured sauce and pasta hit his nose. 

“I brought a fork,” Stiles said. “I wasn’t sure if you’d need one.” 

Derek nodded and took the bowl, fork and all. After Bear had devoured the mac and cheese in minutes, then licked the orange off of his jowls, Derek grabbed Stiles’ wrist and tugged him down for a hard, brief kiss. “Come sit with me,” he asked.

Stiles climbed over the wall of pillows and settled in the same cross-legged position, but Derek shook his head, stretched out on his side and urged Stiles to do the same. 

“Help me make him comfortable?” 

Stiles felt useless, like he was reading a different instruction manual on dog ownership than Derek was, but he laid down mirroring Derek anyway. Derek smiled at him gratefully, then set about ignoring him completely. 

Stiles watched as Derek flashed his eyes repeatedly, and scratched Bear’s head and neck with both fingernails and claws. Every time the change happened, or the blue creeped back, Bear tilted his head to the side, and his tail gave a single wag. After about 15 minutes of this, Bear started to whine, and he buried his face in his paws. 

Derek made shushing noises, then sat up, moving Bear until he was held against his broad chest, in his lap. Derek started growling, not in a threatening way, but like the deep, inquisitive vibration he’d made back at the shelter. 

Bear’s answering growls were pitiful and soft, but there, and they grew louder by the minute. He shook his head periodically, like he had an itch he could scratch, and alternated the growling rumbles with throaty whines.

Stiles clearly heard the moment when the growling and whining became crying. The shift from werewolf to human was always fascinating to Stiles, but this time, even more so. Bear’s fur slowly receded and his limbs changed shape and suddenly, it wasn’t a dog in Derek’s arms, but a little boy. He was sobbing, his head buried in Derek’s chest, and his thin arms wrapped around his neck. Derek rubbed his back and whispered soothing words into his ear. 

Eventually, the boy stopped crying, and sat quietly, still clinging to Derek, the sound of his breath breaking Stiles’ heart every time it hitched from his recent tears. His eyes started to droop quickly, but he looked panicked every time he almost nodded off. Derek gently lowered him to the mattress. The boy whined high in his throat, but Derek held his little hand in his and spoke softly to him. “It’s alright. Sleep now, you’re safe. Good boy, you can sleep.”

He was gone in minutes. Derek covered him with a blanket knitted by Kira, and tucked a pillow given to them by Lydia under his head. He was surrounded by pack on all sides, and a fire lit in Stiles’ chest to make sure he stayed that way. 

“Did you know the whole time?” Stiles asked, under his breath. 

Derek nodded. “But I wasn’t sure. I could see it in his eyes. He looked just like Cora did when she was little.” 

“He was stuck, right? In wolf form?” 

“Probably. He was in that shelter for a long time, and no one ever suspected.”

“Poor baby.” Stiles’ eyes were drawn to the small, sleeping form between them. The boy’s lips were slack, but his wispy brown eyebrows were pulled into a sleepy frown. His thin limbs were starfishing, and Stiles’ finger was drawn to the dip of his palm, beneath fingers that spasmed rhythmically in sleep. He couldn’t have been more than 4 years old, probably closer to 3. “What are we going to do?”

“We’ll teach him how to be pack.”


	2. Chapter 2

The kid slept through the night and most of the next morning, but it wasn’t a restful sleep. He dreamed like a dog, whining and yipping, arms and legs twitching. Every time, either Derek or Stiles would rub his back until it passed, then the boy would mold himself to their sides. 

Around noon, Derek got out of their little nest and headed to the kitchen to fix some food. Stiles pulled out his phone, which he really should have plugged in the night before, and used the last of its battery life to group text the pack about the situation. A few years ago, they would have had werewolves breaking down the door to help, but nowadays, they had a traffic light system. Blood Red was all systems go, rescue needed immediately. Mustard yellow was standby, assistance may be required. Today, Stiles sent out a quick run down, along with a Code Baby Vomit Green. Situation being handled. 

He sent a private text to Deaton, asking him to come and give his opinion, as well as one to Melissa, who got back to him immediately that she’d stop by after her shift. The screen went dead before he got a response from Deaton, but he hadn’t been that hopeful, anyway. Deaton still ran on his own schedule, and that would never change. 

He stuck his phone back in his pocket, and when he looked up again, he spotted two bright eyes peeking at him over the edge of the quilt. 

“Well, hey, there.” Bear clutched the blanket tighter, but didn’t cover his face any more than it was. Stiles figured that was a good sign. “Finally decided to join the land of the living? Congratulations. I know how comfy this couch is. It always makes me want to take a _biiig_ nap.” 

Stiles gave an exaggerated stretch, then tucked his hands beneath his cheek and pretended to fall asleep. He let out comically huge snores, with great, snorting pulls and whistling exhales. He cracked open one eye to see Bear’s face right next to his, and his finger poised to give Stiles’ cheek a poke. Stiles let him do it, and came awake by shaking his head and yawning, then he went right back to fake sleep. 

Bear poked him awake a few more times, then let out a peal of laughter the fifth time, when Stiles let him boop his nose, then sneezed loudly and dramatically.

“Are you laughing at me?” Stiles asked, with mock affront. “Are _you_ laughing at _me?”_

Bear nodded, eyes sparkling with mirth, and Stiles dove into his armpits with wiggling fingers, inducing more and more delighted giggling. When they were both tickled out, Stiles collapsed on his back, about ready for a real nap. Pretty soon, though, his stomach reminded him that they’d skipped dinner last night, and had yet to do something about breakfast or lunch. 

“C’mon, new guy. If we want some lunch, we’d better put on some clothes for you.” 

Stiles carried Bear up to his and Derek’s bedroom, and plopped him on the untouched covers while he rustled up a change of clothes for himself, and some spare PJs Scott’s daughter had left behind and grown out of. Stiles also found a mostly full pack of Pull-ups Scott had assured them they would wish they had in emergencies. He probably hadn’t had the situation they were facing in mind. 

They were still admiring the spaceships on the shirt when Stiles walked them both into the kitchen. After he spotted Derek, Bear hid his face in Stiles’ neck. 

“Hey, you remember Derek, right?” He said, gently. 

Bear stole a peek, and smiled shyly at Derek, ducking his head in bashfulness, rather than fear. 

“Whatcha makin’, Derek?”

“Chicken and biscuits, I thought.” 

“Sounds exciting. Good thing you’ve got some helpers.”

It turned out that 3 year olds didn’t actually make very helpful helpers, but they were stars at contributing to big messes. By the time they sat down with vaguely nugget-shaped chicken and a couple of butter soaked biscuits each, they were festooned with flour and Stiles had half an egg going dry on his pant leg. 

Bear had yet to speak, though Stiles had no idea what was typical for an average 3 year old, let alone one that had been stuck in wolf form for at least 6 months, possibly longer. It had been a couple of years since Scott’s daughter had been that age, and she’d acquired language very quickly, everyone had remarked on it. It was okay, Stiles figured. Bear could take all the time he needed. In the meantime, his eyes sparked with intelligence, and he nodded or shook his head in response to most of Stiles’ and Derek’s questions, the toughest of which was “do you want ketchup?” Now wasn’t the time for interrogations, they decided by unspoken agreement. 

Stiles had just convinced Derek to let him show off his uncanny ability to catch food in his mouth (“I’ve still got it, Derek, don’t pretend you’re not impressed.”) when Melissa walked in their front door. When she called out a greeting, Bear slid off his chair and climbed into Derek’s lap, burying his face in the soft material of his T-shirt and letting out a few soft whimpers. Derek held him in his firm, comforting grip and hummed soothingly with the grating edge of an almost-growl. 

“Hey, Mel,” Stiles greeted. 

“Hi, boys.” She took off her purse and set it on the table, and went to her knees next to Derek and Bear’s chair. “I hear you’ve got an extra boy here who could use a look over.” 

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” She hadn’t yet changed out of her scrubs from the hospital. “I know there’s werewolf healing and all, but...”

“Say no more. He seems tense. Do you want to go somewhere more comfortable?”

“Good idea.” 

Derek carried Bear to the living room and Melissa and Stiles returned the couch bed to its upright position. They settled on it with Bear in the middle and Stiles and Derek on either side. Bear sat and watched patiently as Melissa ran her hands over various limbs to check for anything to be concerned about and examined his eyes and ears with her penlight. He even stuck his tongue out when she asked, though it took some convincing. (Stiles did it too, and crossed his eyes for maximum comical effect.)

“He looks healthy to me. A bit on the thin side, but it looks like you’ve got that covered.” She smiled as she eyed the ketchup stains on the front of his shirt, and flour that still covered them all. 

“We’re working on it,” Stiles said, unashamed of the evidence of their fun. 

Restless after having been still for so long, Bear started to climb Derek like a jungle gym, squirming in between his shoulders and the back of the couch. Melissa and Stiles both laughed when he play-gnawed at Derek’s neck with blunt baby teeth.

“Have you thought about supplies?” Melissa asked. “I have tons of Scott’s stuff in my attic that I haven’t been able to throw away, as well as newer things of Natalie’s.” 

“We could use them,” Derek agreed. He wasn’t flinching, or even seeming to mind that Bear was all over him, his hands in his face and his heels digging into his ribs. 

“Okay, then. I’ll bring the most important stuff tomorrow morning, since I’ve got the day off.”

Stiles walked with her to get her purse and wave goodbye at the door. When her car pulled away, he wandered past the wreckage of the the kitchen to the living room and collapsed onto the rarely-used loveseat. Bear had conquered Derek Mountain and was sitting on Derek’s chest while he laid back, helpless. 

It was just past 2 in the afternoon. Stiles was exhausted from barely 2 hours of the care and handling of a 3 year old boy. 

He tilted his head back and asked Derek, “What now?”

Bear and Derek were already passed out.

**

The three of them surfaced from their nap before 4 o’clock hit, and they made a quick snack of peanut butter and Ritz crackers. (After a thorough recap of the fact that _werewolves do not have allergies, Stiles, he’ll be fine._ ) After that, Derek and Stiles shared a moment wherein it suddenly became crystal clear that they were now in charge of a tiny person.

Babysitting was one thing. There was a set beginning and end, a Dora backpack full of things to occupy them, and three phone numbers to call in case of emergency. It dawned on them that, as the designated primary caregivers, they _were_ the emergency phone number. 

“What should we do?” Stiles stage-whispered. 

“Whenever Natalie comes over, she wants to watch Frozen.”

“We don’t own a copy of Frozen.”

“Can you download one?”

“Why, Derek, I am shocked. You think that I, as a law-abiding citizen, a morally upstanding guy, and the son of the Sheriff, would stoop so low as to--”

“Definitely. Fire it up, Steve Rogers. I’ll get the popcorn. ”

As per usual, Stiles was fighting tears and the urge to sing along within 20 minutes of the movie’s start, but Bear was not as enthralled as Natalie usually was. He was climbing on Derek again, and tearing into a cushion as best he could with his human teeth. (One of Stiles’ favourites--the galaxy pattern--now had slobber on the corner. Stiles couldn’t generate enough ill will to be annoyed about it.)

“This isn’t working.”

“You think?” Derek grunted as one of Bear’s surprisingly sharp feet poked him in the thigh. 

“Well, what do you suggest, Sassypants?”

“A bath, maybe?” Derek’s nose twitched. “He still smells like dog, a bit.”

“Sounds like a plan. Bear? Come on, partner.”

Bear’s head lifted from the pillow at the sound of his name, and tilted just like it had when he’d been a dog. Stiles’ emotions did a weird up and down rhumba, his heart warming at Bear’s bright, interested eyes, but plunging at the reminder that he’d been trapped that way so long, he’d have a hard time losing those quirks. Stiles picked him up and he clung like a monkey. 

“We can’t keep calling him Bear,” Stiles said, as they climbed the stairs. 

“I know. It reminds me of him in that awful cage.” 

“He doesn’t need any reminders either. I don’t think he’ll mind much, since he’s only been Bear for a little while. He must have been called something else before.” Bear growled happily in Stiles’ arms, at the sound of his name. “But he’ll still be a scary bear. A little cuddly teddy bear. Rawr!” Stiles pretended to eat him up, and Bear laughed and echoed Stiles’ attempt at a roar. 

“Well, we don’t have to change it completely.” 

Stiles kicked open the bathroom door, then set Bear on the side of the tub while he turned on the taps. “Hmm?”

“We could call him Theodore, for now.” 

Stiles’ hands paused on the faucet until he worked it out. “Teddy.”

“Yeah.” 

“I think that’s perfect.” 

The bathtub didn’t take long to fill up halfway, and Stiles had tested the water as it poured to make sure it wasn’t too hot. After he’d lost his PJs, the newly christened Teddy had waited quietly on the lip of the tub, held steady by Derek’s hands as he knelt next to it. 

“Alrighty, then. Bathtime, my friend,” Stiles pronounced as he wiped his hands cursorily on his jeans. “Eau de Chien doesn’t really work for you.”

Stiles picked him up by his armpits and started to lower him in, but as soon as his feet touched the water, he stiffened and let out a distressed yell. Stiles stopped immediately and put him back on the edge of the tub, then knelt down to Teddy and Derek’s level. 

“Okay, buddy, okay. No worries,” he said, trying to sound as reassuring as he possibly could. Teddy calmed down, but turned his face so that he couldn’t see the water. Stiles was reluctantly impressed by his fledgling avoidance tactics. “What’s that about, do you think?” He asked Derek, under his breath, as if it would matter to werewolf hearing.

“Not every wolf likes water.” Derek shrugged, his frown matching Teddy’s. “I don’t want to traumatize him, but he’ll need a bath eventually.”

Stiles hummed in agreement. Teddy was starting to look cold from the absence of either flannel or fur, and Stiles knew they had to make some kind of decision quick. 

“Wait.” Derek reached into the depths of the cupboard under the sink and pulled out a dusty but mostly full bottle of lemony-scented bubbles, another leftover from babysitting Natalie. 

“Oh, great! It’d be more fun with bubbles, don’t you think, Teddy?”

Teddy looked dubious. They let out some of the water in the bath and re-ran it so that they could add the bubbles easily. 

“Look, Teddy!” Stiles scooped up a handful of jiggly bubbles and blew it in Teddy’s direction. Teddy’s face continued to radiate _Are you kidding me with this?_ Stiles sighed. “I can get in with you. How about that?”

Teddy looked a little mollified, but he still had his hands clenched tight around a handful of Derek’s T-shirt. Stiles stripped and lowered himself in the cooling bath, shuddering at the tickle of bubbles on his bare butt. Teddy giggled and Stiles looked over in interest. 

“Oh, you like my funny faces, do you? Well, let’s see how you like it in here.” 

Between them, they slowly coaxed Teddy into the water, and he and Stiles ended up sitting cross-legged across from each other. Teddy soon found out that tepid bathwater wasn’t so bad, but bubbles were amazing. They gave each other beards and scowled with bunchy eyebrows just like Derek. They stayed in the bath so long, playing and half-heartedly scrubbing, that they had to add water a few times to keep from freezing. Derek fetched them towels--all three of them, as Derek had gotten splashed a number of times--when their fingers were too pruney to function and they all redressed in PJs for a cozy evening at home.

Dinner was pasta again. Spaghetti and tomato sauce, this time, instead of plastic cheese. It almost undid the work of their bath(“Seriously, Derek, how does someone manage to get tomato on the back of their neck?”) but once they were cleaned up, they gave Frozen another valiant try. It wasn’t any more engaging the second time around, but they sure had fun not paying attention. 

They decided to pull out the couch bed again, rather than try sleeping in an unfamiliar room, and Stiles told Derek and Teddy bedtime stories until none of them could keep their eyes from slipping shut.

**

Pancakes were just as messy as biscuits, and a lot more sticky. 3 year old hands, which had so recently been paws, didn’t hold forks very well, it seemed. They cut their losses after the first pan was done and picked them up to dip in syrup. They made the perfect simple breakfast, however, and Stiles poured them in cool shapes like his dad always had. 

Derek heard Melissa’s car pull up after they’d washed their hands(and elbows, and chest and _legs_ , for goodness sake). At the same moment, Stiles’ phone started vibrating in his pocket. Derek took Teddy with him to get the door while Stiles answered Deaton’s call and put him on speaker phone. 

“Good morning, Mr. Stilinski. I hear you’ve acquired a little problem.”

“You could say that.” Stiles waved at Melissa as she came in the door, and she smiled, since her hands were occupied by a laundry basket of clothes for Teddy. “We wanted to expert opinion on how to proceed.”

Deaton was at a veterinary conference in Oregon, and had called on the hour break he had before his next seminar. Stiles, Derek, Melissa, and Teddy all squished into the breakfast nook and asked Deaton the tough questions. First and foremost: If they should be searching for Teddy’s parents. 

“It’s highly unlikely that anyone is missing him,” Deaton told them. “The supernatural grapevine is a very reliable network, these days, and something like a juvenile werewolf disappearing from its parents’ care is something that we would have heard about from coast to coast. How long did you say he was at the shelter for?”

“6 months.”

“No. If anyone was looking for him, they would have found him already.”

Deaton hypothesized that Teddy had been the child of a human who hadn’t been made aware of the fact that their son was a werewolf. Likely, they hadn’t known about werewolves at all. Werewolf babies didn’t start to develop lycanthropic characteristics until a little before age 3, which would make sense with the timeline they had, if the parent had seen their child change, panicked, and dropped him off somewhere. A volunteer at the shelter had said he’d been a stray for a while before they’d picked him up. 

The whole thing made Stiles’ heart hurt. In a way, it was lucky that Teddy had been stuck in wolf form. A wolf ‘toddler’ was able to to take care of itself a lot better than a human one could. His survival instincts would have kicked in and made sure he knew to hunt to feed himself. If he’d been abandoned in beta form, there probably would have been Child Services involved, and there was no telling how long he could have kept his wolf nature under the radar. 

Teddy started to get restless and cranky from all the sitting, so Derek took him out on the lawn to play. As long as they didn’t go too far, Derek could hear anything that Deaton had left to discuss.

“The best thing, for now, would be for the two of you to take care of him like you have been,” Deaton was saying. “He’s already familiar with you and your den, and he’ll be comfortable there until I can call make some calls to explore options for somewhere more permanent.” 

Deaton rang off to get ready for his thrilling panel on treating fungal infections in pet turtles, and Melissa and Stiles sat in the kitchen for a while, watching Derek and Teddy play-wrestle on the grass.

“Something tells me that Deaton won’t end up having to call in any favours,” Melissa said, gently. 

Stiles huffed a laugh and leaned his chin on his hand, smiling at his two boys tumbling around with each other. “You’re probably right.”

Melissa reached between them and took Stiles’ hand in both of hers. “Stiles, I truly think this is the beginning of something very special. But I want you both to think about this very carefully before you make any decisions. Most people have at least 9 months to make sure that they’re completely ready. You won’t have that, so you need to be sure.”

Stiles had been an only child, by necessity as much as choice. A large family hadn’t been feasible on a small town deputy’s salary, and the reality of his mother’s long-term illness had made trying for even one more child a very low priority. So Stiles hadn’t had any younger siblings to dote on, or even any cousins this side of the pond. He’d been an isolated adolescent, and a busy high school student, so it wasn’t until his friends had started having children that he’d had much contact with them. 

Holding his best friend’s daughter, within hours of her birth, after being tearfully informed that he and Derek would be Godfathers, something had clicked inside of him. A little piece of his primal makeup had perked up, taken notice, and said, ‘oh, that’s something I want to do.’ At the time, he’d been 20 and recklessly in love, and had known it wasn’t on the cards just yet. He’d put it on the backburner, and focused his latent paternal instinct on being the best co-godfather the world had ever seen. 

Now, that little part of him that had allowed itself to be shoved into a corner, mollified with _later, a couple more years, now isn’t the right time_ , sat up and demanded to be heeded. 

“9 months?” Stiles scoffed. “Try 9 minutes. That’s when I knew he was ours, wolf or boy.”

“I’m glad.” Melissa patted his hand one more time, then got up and stretched. “Come on. That stuff isn’t going to carry itself inside.” 

She’d brought enough stuff to fill the trunk and back seat of her Toyota, which didn’t end up taking too much time at all. Stiles made the decision to take the stuff all the way to the spare room upstairs, and even as he did it, he felt like he was crossing a bridge, making a statement to himself and to Derek, who brought Teddy into the small room once Melissa had said her goodbyes. Derek poured a sleeping Teddy into the bed and they curled up next to him as he slept on, tuckered out from their games. 

This sleep was so different from the one Teddy had had when he’d first come into their home and Derek had coaxed the human boy out of the wolf. His breathing was deep and even and his PJ shirt had ridden up, exposing a little patch of his pale pink belly that Stiles wanted to blow a raspberry on as soon as he woke up. 

“Is this our life now?” Stiles asked, in equals afraid of the answer and sure he knew what it would be.

“Do you want it to be?”

“Yes. More than anything.” 

Derek ran a large, careful finger down Teddy’s cheek, which they’d make sure grew round with health soon enough. “Me too.”

Stiles let out a relieved, elated breath and felt his smile growing so wide that his cheeks hurt. “Okay, then. Good. Okay.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, but his own smile was big enough to show off his teeth. “Okay?”

“Yeah, good.” Stiles sat up and patted his pockets. “Where’s my phone? I have to call my dad and tell him he’s a grandpa, now.”

“Please, for the love of god, make sure he knows you didn’t get magically werewolf pregnant.”

“I’m certain there is a hilarious reason why you think he’d assume that, but I’m less certain that I want to know what it is.”

“He spent about a month when you were 19 trying to get me to admit that my werewolf sperm could knock you up. I had to inform him in disturbing detail that you’d likely already have gotten pregnant if that were the case to get him to lay off. If he thought I was lying, I’d be run out of town.”

“Is that why you started using condoms for a couple weeks, months after we started dating? I thought that was weird.”

“I admit to nothing.”


	3. Chapter 3

His dad took the news just about as well as the rest of the pack did, which meant he was ecstatic. He understood and complied with their request for a couple of days to get Teddy used to his new home, but on the third day after Derek and Stiles became parents, he knocked on their door and Grandpa’d harder than any Grandpa had before. Teddy loved him immediately. Grandpa, as well as everyone else, loved him back. 

All of them helped to make sure he knew he was in a pack now, stopping by with gifts of clothes and blankets with their scents woven in. They also came bearing food and willing to do dishes and laundry, which was appreciated more than they could possibly express, since they had their work cut out for them. 

Teddy was a good kid. Good-natured and easily reasoned with if he grew cranky or frustrated. He had a lot to learn, however. The motor skills he would have been working hard on as a run-of-the-mill toddler had degenerated. He was strong, like all werewolf kids, but he had trouble holding things for long. When he wanted to be somewhere, he’d automatically crawl, instead of trying out new, shaky legs, but he never complained when Derek or Stiles encouraged him to his feet. 

Potty training was a challenge. Months of doing his business outside, on newspaper, or basically anywhere that wasn’t a toilet had been ingrained, and they were quickly finding that Teddy had a stubborn streak. They were reduced to bribery very quickly. 

Derek postponed a lot of his projects, and Stiles cut back his hours at the library significantly, and they threw themselves into their new lives the only way they knew how. Derek, stoically and with a deeply entrenched fear of screwing it up completely. Stiles, with obsessive research and too little sleep.

So, they figured they were doing okay. 

**

Grocery shopping became one of their favourite things to do. Teddy loved to sit in the cart and point at things he was interested in as Derek methodically worked his way up and down every aisle, paying little attention to Stiles, who fell behind constantly while on the hunt for some ingredient he’d forgotten to put on the list. It kept them all occupied, and got Teddy out into the world in a safe, climate-controlled, relatively quiet arena. Yellow eyes had only once made an appearance, and neither of them could blame him at the time. Giant polar bear mascots were an exciting sight indeed. 

The only drawback was that, since Stiles was often nowhere to be found, Derek found himself the recipient of heated looks and outright come ons from women and men of any age, enamoured by his ease with his adorable kid. Stiles found Derek’s discomfort highly amusing, until the time when _he_ was the one left alone with Teddy and a lady closer to his Dad’s age than his grabbed his butt “accidentally” on her way to the magazine rack.

Stiles made an effort to stick closer to the cart, after that. 

**

“And the goat wasn’t lonely any more. The end.” Stiles closed the storybook, leaned over to kiss Teddy’s forehead goodnight, and heard a soft, clumsy voice say, “Again.”

Stiles reared back in surprise, and Teddy reached for the book. He opened it across both their laps and tapped the cow on the first page impatiently. It was past his bedtime, and Derek was waiting in the doorway, so that they could go and watch Game of Thrones together. One look at Derek’s face, which was probably a mirror of Stiles’ own, convinced him that they could extend reading time a little longer. Just this once.

“Sure thing, Tedmeister,” Stiles said, then cleared his throat to dislodge the lump of emotion. “Whatever you say.” 

**

It wasn’t all as easy as simply loving Teddy so much they would kill or die for him. Toward the end of the second week, Teddy got scared of a neighbour’s car backfiring and reverted back to his wolf form. He writhed in the confines of his suddenly ill-fitting shirt, yelping and crying shrilly until they could catch up to him and keep him from hurting himself in his panic.

Eventually, Derek held him still long enough that they could remove his shredded clothes and pulled him tightly to his chest like he’d done when they'd first found him. He was just as scared as he had been then, whining anxiously and probably terrified he’d be stuck like that for another half a year, or maybe forever. But he wasn’t alone. Not anymore. 

They sat in their bed, combing fingers through Teddy’s fur and murmuring comforting words until he’d calmed down enough that Derek’s blue eyes could guide him back to his human side. The whining petered out into sniffles and sobs, and Teddy’s fingers clutched their clothes. 

“Daddy,” he whimpered into the peaceful quiet of their bedroom. “Daddy, Daddy.” 

It didn’t matter who he was referring to, as it was probably both of them. They’d been tentatively trying out the title on each other in Teddy’s presence since last week, when Stiles’ dad had brought over the birth certificate and adoption papers he’d procured with help from a contact in the Witness Protection program. 

They held him close through the night and told him, “Yes, Daddy’s here. We’re here. We’ll always be here for you.” 

**

It was remarkable how quickly their lives rearranged to make room for Teddy. In less than 3 weeks, they had a new routine, a new grocery list, and a house that had always felt like home layered with even more overtones of _safe, warm,_ and _den._

Teddy was a good sleeper, and was normally dead to the world within 10 minutes of his bedtime story, so Derek and Stiles were sitting on their comfy couch snuggling by 7:30pm. Stiles settled back into the pile of cushions and nuzzled his face into Derek’s neck, inhaling the scent of him. He didn’t need to be a werewolf to know that Derek smelled happy and loved. 

When Stiles pulled back and looked at his face, though, Derek looked like he was deep in serious thought. 

“What’s that face about?” Stiles asked, because he knew all of Derek’s faces. This was one to be mildly concerned about. 

“It’s nothing.” 

“Nuh-uh. Don’t make me quote your therapist at you. ‘Silence is the biggest barrier you will face with your loved ones, and it’s easily overcome--’”

“I know, I know. I just--” Derek dragged a hand down his face, and didn’t look at Stiles. “Fine. When we were at the shelter, getting Teddy, there was--” Derek broke off and sighed heavily. “There was this dog. A golden retriever, I think. He was in the cage across from Ted, and I was totally focused on the rescue mission, but for a second, I met this dog’s eyes. They were so hopeful, then so sad when we left again.” 

Stiles was quiet for a long time, then he slapped Derek’s thigh hard enough to make his hand hurt. “I knew it. I knew it the whole time, you were fucking with me, Derek. You were on board for the dog thing from the beginning, weren’t you?” He leapt up from the couch, keeping his happy dance small, lest the sound of his feet wake Teddy. “Get up, and go and put your pants on. I’m calling Dad, he can babysit for a couple of hours while we go to Beacon City. Then, I’m going to call the shelter. Do you remember the dog’s name?”

Derek stayed silent for a few seconds, then his shoulders slumped and he gave in. “It was Edward.” 

Stiles fist-bumped the air while he waited for his dad to pick up. “Fate, Derek. We have made it our bitch.” 

Derek shook his head, but he stole a kiss from Stiles before going to find his jeans and his keys. They were getting a dog. The timing couldn’t be more perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Not gonna lie, this ended up being my favourite of pretty much everything I've written. 
> 
> Leave kudos/comments if you enjoyed it! Also, I'm totally in love with this fluffy verse and I'm working on more! The sequel has gained sentience and is now much longer than I had originally planned, and I keep coming up with more ideas for timestamps and continuations, so subscribe to the series to be notified when those go up. 
> 
> Thanks to SylvieW for the idea for this story, and the beta. :)


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